


Mutual Destruction

by DarthFucamus



Series: Kinktober 2018 [4]
Category: The Collector Series (Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Blood, Bondage, Dubious Consent, F/M, Knifeplay, Masks, Masochism, Murder Husbands, Sadism, the mask stays on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2018-11-28
Packaged: 2019-09-01 18:55:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16770898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthFucamus/pseuds/DarthFucamus
Summary: The Collector accidentally tries to collect another serial killer





	Mutual Destruction

**Author's Note:**

> This is not good, unedited, and no one asked for it. But here you go!

* * *

His eyes glint in the basement light. The bulb, upset by her prior struggle, which led to the knife cut over her clavicle, sways back and forth reflecting moving textures on his black mask. The moving shadows, a little wobbly, are steady as a heartbeat. It reflects on the damp but drying cascade of blood that slowly leaks from the laceration. Her pulse is racing.

He hasn’t spoken, but he communicates all that she needs to know: I am going to hurt you because I enjoy it. A true sadist, the psychopath licks his neutral-set lips and draws a black vinyl glove down one side of her face. The hard caress mocks more sweet and gentle gestures, and spreads old, tacky blood over her cheek. 

It’s fine. She knows he needs the thrill, and the power, that comes from inflicting his evil desires on broken and unwilling partners. So she cries, and whimpers, and she doesn’t fight. He tries to tease a reaction out of her, dragging the flat of his blade over bare, goosebumped breasts. 

Her hard nipple pops under the edge of the blade when it passes. The fear that he will cut the sensitive tissue merges with the sharp spike of pleasure, and she has to stifle a moan. He likes living playthings, his every action implies a desire to subdue and control. But deep down, in the animal core of him, he longs for the struggle to ignite his blood. 

She plays with him right back, a little rougher, with one of her few possible defenses. She knees him in the groin, which despite the sensual nature of his tortures, appears entirely uninspired by her nudity thus far. He is, however, undeniably affected by the calculated strike on his tender anatomy. Buckling, he staggers half a step, wrestling control of himself back from the brink.

He grabs her jaw, baring his teeth in a mouth that is one of only two features visible through the windows of the carapace laced onto his head. It is her only gauge for his state, and with eyes flickering like flame, he is getting excited. 

Collected once more, he holds her head still as he brings the knifepoint toward the underside of her nose. He pushes up, enough that he no longer needs to keep her face steady as she strains to lift her head away from the point. The edge of the knife is very sharp, and despite her efforts, the blade cuts into nerve-concentrated skin, slicing into her nostril.

She utters a hoarse squeal but it melds into a masochistic moan. Her mouth hangs open, and she squirms when the knife is taken away, as if she craves more of its painful kiss. Blood gushes down her face, pooling around her gums and teeth; it is a shallow enough cut, yet these places bleed profusely. 

She can tell that he likes the color, and she loves seeing his cold, hollow gaze lost to the satisfaction, even at her own expense. Her thighs slide together easily. By now, her arousal has leaked between the seam of her pressed skin and halfway to her knees. She can barely wait any longer. 

She has teased him like this since he began ‘torturing’ her, lulling him into complacency, but stirring his blood in between with unpredictable bursts of resistance. Some reasonably effective, enough to warrant a gag and wrists fastened above her head with cutting piano wire instead of rope. 

Enough to keep him bouncing back and forth between carnality and some higher motivation to cause pain, and more than enough to have her nearly beside herself with anticipation.

He has shown no sign of awareness that he’s being manipulated, right up until the moment her hands slip out of the wire, which she has been subtly loosening. She doesn’t know how her numb hands manage to work so well, she only knows that they are on his wrist, twisting it the wrong way, and plunging the knife back into his own side. 

The dagger pierces more fabric, skin, and fat than anything vital, but the way he tenses, losing the almost lazy strength he’d shown until now, invigorates her tired body. She pushes off the support pillar with her feet, knocking him back and onto the floor under her. Her knees strike hard concrete, but she barely feels it through the adrenaline rush. 

She doesn’t have to use much strength, she just claws at his eyes, gripping the knife handle so that the blade wiggles inside of him with every movement. He is so busy trying to get a grip on her sweaty, blood-streakedbody that it gives her a narrow window. She manages to twist the blade. He is mortal, after all, though all he utters is a drawn-out, strained noise. 

Straddling him, she feels him grow, feels the change between mindless predator and calculating hedonist directly, settling in a sweet spot that is a bit of both. He is unavoidably hard. With gloves slick with their combined blood, he jabs a hand between her thighs and pierces her unprotected cunt with two fingers. It shocks her enough that she lets go of the knife.

Her involuntary moan gives up the game. His eyes widen, and he knows... he knows she’s been toying with him and secretly getting off on it the whole time. Remembering his strength, he pushes her back. Shoved by the full force of his deceptively dense musculature, her back hits the ground, stunning her less than he might expect. But he’s nearly in a frenzy and she waits. 

He accepts her invitation, throwing himself over her and clapping the black vinyl glove around her throat. It is a fresh one, somehow, it doesn’t slip as much on her skin. He isn’t playing when he squeezes, she can feel the sharp tickle in her esophagus that makes her want to cough, but the blood which accumulates and tightens in her head deters her. Lungs screaming, she looks up at him through pinched, swollen eyes and smiles. 

That spark in his gaze, is it anger? No. His breath seethes through clenched teeth as he pushes her limp legs apart with his knees and unzips his pants one-handed. He draws a weapon that is far more common than the other tools he enjoys. Probing fingers show just enough consideration to guide himself to the spot, and he thrusts his whole body forward, penetrating her slick, clenched cunt. 

The stars prickling at the corners of her eyes begin to fill her vision, and her head pulses sluggishly. It doesn’t even matter that the knife blade is still in his side and that it is gushing blood onto her and soaking his black clothes, he doesn’t even seem to feel the injury as he rams his thick cock deep inside of her with enough force to rattle her insides. 

She nearly passes out from the chokehold, her body grows limp and weak under his brutal rhythm, limbs swaying with his motions, but before she can let herself fall to the darkness, he releases her neck and instead, grabs a breast. Blood flows back into her brain, and air floods her lungs on a wave of euphoria. Amidst it, his mouth comes down, and he bites her neck where the skin is still tender from being choked, sinking rows of teeth into her skin. The pain arouses her consciousness and slingshots it above the earth. 

She feels the growing bud of pressure and tightness that cries for release deep in her spine, but apart from that anchor, she feels as though she’s someone else, watching the visceral conjugation of rutting bodies from a distance. This is what she secretly wants, this self-destructive transcendence that no one else in this world is capable of giving her but a true sadist. 

And it seems he’s found his own prize. He presses hard tooth marks, already purpling, into everywhere he can reach as he fucks her raw against her concrete basement floor, and she stops holding back her vocal approval. She feels the knife handle, protruding from his side, jab into her with enough force to hurt, and she knows that the blade is being driven deeper. 

Gasping and panting, but still speaking not a word, her would-be torturer’s hand moves between her legs, palpating for the place where his wild penetrations churn cunt juice and blood into a froth. In as much of a show of surrender to her control as a signed contract, he rolls firm fingertips over her clit. 

A better, more well-trained lover would be hard to find, she thinks as his teeth draw blood from a pillowy, bouncing breast. The ground seems to sink, and the oncoming wave looms. She throws back her head and lets the crest hit her, cumming around his solid cock in fist-tight spasms. With a guttural groan, his cock surges between her tender, abraded inner walls, soothing the continued friction with hot jets of cum.

Proof that for all his mysterious, violent nature, he’s just a man. He crams as much of himself as deeply inside of her as he can manage, to the point that she considers internal injury a concern, and lets the throbbing ejaculation pulse out in receding waves. 

Panting, thoroughly undone, his weight sinks on top of her until he hisses, remembering the knife that must have now been nudging dangerously close to some vital organ or other. He pushes up and rocks back on bent knees which keep her legs open. Messy cum leaks out of her and down her ass crack as the post-coital bliss draws back, uncovering the sharp, itchy pain of his forceful penetration. 

His cock is still partly erect, the olive-toned shaft and the dark pink head drips the final dregs. She’s so satisfied that she doesn’t care what happens next. This is better than murder. He tucks himself away as an afterthought as he examines the knife wound. 

Overly reflective eyes flicker to her as if acknowledging that she is the one responsible for this situation. It doesn’t even matter that he fucked up her plans, breaking into the home where she was hosting a lingerie party for the affluent, bored, middle-aged housewives she carefully emulated. 

She wonders if he suspects yet that she is an entirely different animal than they, who succumbed too easily to his gory killing spree.

Black vinyl hands, slick with all manner of body fluids by now, carefully probe the entry wound. He considers her no threat, despite the injury, and she is almost disappointed that he doesn’t recognize the monster in her. Perhaps they are too different, and maybe he is right to dismiss her. Her methods are less direct than his and involve weeks of planning, maneuvering, cultivating. 

Even more than him, with his boobytraps and the covert, inventive alterations to his prey’s familiar environment. He wears a mask, but she must rely on her own face, create an entire persona to blend in. That takes work. And now, she’ll have to start again. Just like a man to let women do all the work and then swoop in to reap the rewards. 

She doesn’t want to kill him, after the best fuck she’d had in years, but he’s brought it upon himself. And now, like most men, he’s still probably a little muddled from the orgasm. 

Too busy trying to pull out the knife without cutting something else, he fails to notice her reaching for the floor drain with the loose cover where she stashed her own goodies earlier: a package of botox needles filled with muscle-paralyzing nerve agents. She had been planning to bring these babies out when the boozy lingerie party inevitably evolved to drunken, self-administered botox injections, but now is good too. 

His eyes follow her movement, too late. The needle plunges into the tense meat of his neck. To his credit, he reacts immediately, relinquishing the knife to hit her. But the drug cocktail works fast on that arm and the blow lands weakly on her face. She laughs, pushing him to the side. 

“You should leave that in,” she says of the knife, standing on shaky legs. She is still leaking cum and arousal down the inside of her thighs. “If you pull it out, you might bleed to death.”

Pushing him onto his back with a foot, he can only watch, limp as a spent dick, as she makes her way to the water heater closet. She blows out the pilot light, and gas hisses into space. It is how she’d planned to end the night anyway, but despite an unexpected second killer mucking it all up, things could have gone much, much worse. 

She has to grip the railing as she makes her way up the stairs on shaky legs, wrapped in a dusty quilt she found. As much as she’d love to stay and savor her victory and taunt him some more, common sense dictates that she be well clear of the impending disaster site. 

She must be well clear before the fire department arrives, at the very least. But she stops and looks back, maybe feeling a little sentimental. 

Overly reflective eyes watch her from a prone position on the floor, and despite everything, he doesn’t seem so angry. Of course, it doesn’t help that he can’t move his facial muscles to show expression, but she likes to think he isn’t a sore loser. One predator recognizes another, gracefully accepting defeat as was the natural order of things. 

Unless... he manages to escape just in time. After all, the dosage in that needle had been intended for an adult woman of lesser body weight.

She is well into the woods by the time the basement’s deep freezer compressor kicks on, offering the spark that ignites the leaking gas that has, by now, permeated the basement and leaked to the upper floors. The size of the blast is satisfying, and she knows that all the firefighters will find is a blazing inferno and the burnt and unrecognizable corpses of five women and a single man. 

Best to start her game again across state lines, just to be sure. 

**Author's Note:**

> I did this instead of writing my nanowrimonovel. :) fuck.


End file.
